A Prior Attachment (Dorothy Mack Regency Romances) Page 13

  “Yes, poor man. It seems impossible to believe that all that apparent strength should be dormant,” said Gemma in ready sympathy. “This paralysis cannot be permanent.”

  Lucy flashed her friend a quick smile for expressing her own views so unselfconsciously. She had grown rather silent in the last few minutes, glad that there were enough people on hand so as not to require a great effort from her to maintain the flow of conversation. The truth was that the party had gone rather flat for her from the second she had realized that only two gentlemen from the manor had called. With the honesty that characterized her self-dealings, she admitted that she had been eager to see Lord Oliver today. With something less than her usual honesty, she attributed her own sense of loss at his absence to disappointment that she would not now be in a position to observe whether he continued to advance in friendliness toward them all or regretted his lapse of yesterday and reverted to his former coldness.

  A moment’s consideration produced the unwelcome thought that perhaps his absence today was just that — an indication that he regretted his behaviour of yesterday. She stared down at her fingers holding the teacup, the same fingers that he had kissed so deliberately, and had to be spoken to twice by her brother before her attention was caught. Aside from that one brief instance, no one present would have gleaned any hint from her agreeable manner that Lucy was applying a strict control over herself to conceal an inner perturbation and a growing desire to achieve some privacy in which to discard the smile that was becoming a trial to maintain.

  Fortunately, a severe mental chastisement for indulging in girlish fantasies delivered by the sensible mature Lucy to the silly gooseish creature staring back at her from the mirror was nearly completely effective in banishing these fantasies. She enjoyed a good dinner and a peaceful evening of music and reading as much as anyone else in the family. If her sleep was all the sweeter for the hope that tomorrow might bring another meeting with the aloof but fascinating major, such a hope was kept well below the surface of her awareness and had not the least influence on the unusual pains she took with her appearance the following morning.

  CHAPTER 11

  The sun shone down brightly the next morning, and the gentlemen who had ridden out early reported that it bade fair to be a warm day. Miss Fairmont was regaling Miss Delevan with a description of the perfect gem of a parasol she intended to carry to Bath when word reached the breakfast table that Lady Sophronia had fallen victim to the only influence in her well-regulated life that she was unable to control by positive thinking: an attack of the migraine.

  “Oh, that is too bad! Poor Aunt,” said Gemma when Coralee seemed to be bereft of words. “Pray convey our warmest sympathy to her ladyship, Stansmere, and tell her we shall put off our shopping trip until she feels more the thing.”

  “Not go to Bath,” exclaimed Coralee, finding her voice in a hurry. “Why should we postpone the trip when my aunt may go with us in Mama’s stead?”

  “I regret that won’t be possible today, Coralee,” replied her cousin. “Mama has an engagement with Lady Godwin this afternoon. If my aunt is still unwell tomorrow, I feel sure Mama will agree to take us.”

  “But my ball is scarcely a fortnight away. If we delay our shopping forever, there will be no time to have a gown made.”

  “I am persuaded Miss Weems could make you up a ball dress in a sennight if she knew the time were short. Do not disturb yourself on that account.”

  “I don’t wish to have Miss Weems make me one of her démodé dresses, even if she makes it overnight,” declared Coralee, flushing angrily. “I plan to have my dress made by that new Frenchwoman in New Bond Street, Mademoiselle Analise. Will you excuse me please, Uncle? I am going to talk to Mama.” With that she pushed back her chair before Stansmere could assist her, and ran out of the room.

  Gemma turned limpid eyes on her father. “I fear poor Coralee is greatly disappointed.”

  Peter let out a rude crack of laughter but closed his mouth at a look from his parent.

  There was nothing in his daughter’s words or tones to object to, but the duke’s eyes narrowed and he said shortly, “So I see,” before returning his attention to his breakfast.

  Gemma did the same, and it was for Lucy to initiate a light conversation about the newest blooms in the gardens. They were running out of things to say about the flowers when Coralee came back into the room, a sunny smile on her lips in place of the sulky frown with which she had departed a few moments before. She turned the smile on Lucy first.

  “Mama says she has a great respect for Miss Delevan’s taste and would trust her to oversee the shopping trip if my uncle will permit us to go into town under Mr. Delevan’s escort. You could have no possible objection to such an arrangement, Uncle, could you?” She focused confident blue eyes on the duke’s features and smiled brilliantly.

  “If Mr. Delevan is willing to take on the task of bear-leading a parcel of females on a shopping expedition, you have my permission,” conceded her uncle.

  It was now John’s turn to bask in the sunshine of Coralee’s smile. He forestalled the pretty plea trembling on her lips by stating at once that he would be honoured to provide the young ladies with an escort in Bath.

  During Coralee’s fervent expression of gratitude, Gemma’s glance skimmed his for a mere instant and he recognized that she as well as her cousin attributed his acceptance to the heady effect of the latter’s charm. Since it was not part of his plan to try to persuade her otherwise at the present, he merely smiled kindly into slightly contemptuous eyes.

  The duchess, when appraised of the situation, was not best pleased to have the young women jauntering about Bath with only a masculine escort, but since the new arrangement had already won official sanction, she refrained from voicing an opinion that would seem to criticize her husband or sister-in-law.

  The existence of a seat in the carriage did not influence John to alter his original intention of riding into Bath. Coralee did indeed attempt to change his mind, but her powers of persuasion proved inadequate to the task. In the most apologetic manner he confessed to a tendency to feel sick in a closed carriage. Lucy was privately amused to perceive that Gemma’s countenance registered disbelief, and her cousin looked faintly scandalized at this disclosure. The subject was dropped immediately, and the girls had the carriage to themselves for the hour-long trek to Bath.

  Both Lucy and Gemma had spent several years at a Queen’s Square seminary, and Coralee had passed much of her childhood at Monteith Hall, so a trip to Bath was no novelty for any of the girls. The talk en route consisted of a nearly complete review of the last three issues of La Belle Assemblée, offered by Coralee. Frankly bored after ten minutes, Gemma directed her attention to the passing scenery, leaving it to Lucy to supply the occasional cues to keep Coralee prattling happily along. It said much for the essential sweetness of Lucy’s nature and the early training in good manners imparted by her mother that the girls arrived in New Bond Street with their mutual cordiality unimpaired.

  Mr. Delevan delivered his passengers to the establishment of Mlle Analise and went off to see to the stabling of his horse. It was agreed that he should meet them at the modiste’s in an hour’s time, which, he was helpfully assured, would give him ample opportunity to see the abbey and take a peek in at the Pump Room.

  Thus relieved of the responsibility for their escort’s entertainment, the ladies proceeded to the business at hand. It had been decided in the carriage that Miss Fairmont was to have a white ball gown made. At the outset she had begged Miss Delevan’s advice on colour, which that young lady had been reluctant to offer, feeling that this should be Miss Fairmont’s choice for the happiest result. When pressed repeatedly for an opinion, she had finally ventured to suggest that blue must always be very complimentary to one of Miss Fairmont’s colouring, only to be told instantly by the latter that she was tired of blue; perhaps she would have white this time, and what did Miss Delevan think of white? Catching on to the way Miss Fairmont’s mind
operated, Miss Delevan thought white an excellent choice, and was thereafter perfectly willing to put forth upon request suggestions as to sleeve style and skirt detail for the purpose of being overruled by the younger girl.

  With a customer who knew her own mind as well as Miss Fairmont, the business of selecting a design and fabric was accomplished in fairly short order. Mlle Analise, after one look at the beautiful young woman desiring one of her creations, was all compliance and eagerness to be of service. Such a marvellous advertisement for the productions of her designing genius did not come along every day. In Miss Fairmont she discovered the perfectly proportioned figure to show off her dresses — though she could wish the young lady a fraction taller — combined with a beauty that would draw all eyes to her person. Her loveliest fabrics were set before this desirable client once the ladies had been made comfortable in a room that could pass for a small drawing room. Mlle Analise made a sketch from her client’s description of what she envisioned after her own tentative designs had been rejected by that decided young lady. When this was approved by all, Miss Fairmont was led to a small inner room to have her measurements taken while the other two amused themselves by glancing through some of the modiste’s designs and admiring the fabrics brought in by two young seamstresses from the rear of the establishment. The entire business was concluded with no reference to anything so mundane as cost, though the dressmaker made doubly sure that the account was to be sent to the Duke of Carlyle at Monteith Hall.

  It was no concern of Lucy’s how Coralee spent the duke’s money, and Gemma was determined to remain ignorant of the entire transaction. Lucy, who had an allowance fit for a queen, would not have dreamed of making such a purchase without full knowledge of the cost; indeed, she was by nature a thrifty shopper and rather prided herself on her eye for a bargain. She was therefore secretly rather appalled by the nonchalant attitude displayed by the duke’s niece. Gemma had been taught by her mother to live within her very moderate allowance and was well aware that the duke frowned on requests for additional funds, however valid the reason or pressing the emergency. This was not the first time she had been shopping with her cousin, so she was well acquainted with Coralee’s general extravagance and her ingrained habit of buying things on impulse that she took a violent fancy to in the shops and that were largely consigned to the back of her wardrobe or the bottom of her drawers thereafter, sometimes without ever being worn at all. There was never any point in trying to argue her out of the purchase at the time, however, for she was as wilful as she was extravagant, and any hint of opposition only increased her determination to possess the item in question. Lady Sophronia could afford to indulge her daughter’s whims, knowing she could put a stop to her prodigality whenever she chose to put her foot down. What would happen should Coralee ever marry a man of modest means or any man who could not exert control over her was, thankfully, a nightmarish possibility that need not be considered seriously in view of her breeding and the material and personal assets she brought to the marriage mart.

  “That went very quickly, I must say,” approved Gemma as they closed the door of the dressmaker’s behind them. “We have nearly twenty minutes before meeting Mr. Delevan.”

  “Perhaps we might be able to find you a pretty reticule in that little shop around the corner,” Lucy suggested, directing their steps forward.

  Coralee was in favour of this plan also, since she wanted to buy a new reticule to go with the commissioned ball gown. “We can easily be back here by the time Mr. Delevan arrives.”

  It was not much more than fifteen minutes past the appointed hour when Mr. Delevan, waiting patiently outside Mlle Analise’s door, espied his bevy of beauties strolling slowly toward him. He was able to appreciate the striking picture they made and assess the number of admiring glances directed their way by other passers-by, since the girls were engrossed in an animated conversation and were impervious to their effect on others. As he approached his charges, pleasantly aware of the envy of other men at his good fortune, Lady Gemma spotted him first and quickened her steps.

  “Pray forgive us, sir, for keeping you waiting. I fear we must be shockingly late.”

  “Not a bit of it. I am entirely at your disposal.” He offered her his arm and included the other two in his welcoming smile. “My groom made arrangements yesterday with the proprietor of the York House to serve us luncheon at half after twelve. We are in good time, and anything we cannot accomplish before then may be done after lunch.”

  “Oh, marvellous,” gushed Coralee, attaching herself to his other arm, “because my cousin and your sister have yet to purchase long gloves for the ball.”

  Her spontaneous little gesture in taking their escort’s arm would have left Lucy to walk alone, but Gemma dropped back immediately to join her friend as the party proceeded to the glovers.

  It lacked fifteen minutes to the appointed hour for lunch when they emerged from the glovemaker’s shop. With his customary good nature, Mr. Delevan had made himself the repository for all the packages so far acquired. The hotel was nearby on George Street at the top of Milsom, so they would be in good time for lunch.

  John and Gemma were somewhat ahead of the pace of the other two. The duke’s daughter had felt very awkward in the company of her friend’s brother just after he had brought her home on his horse following the racing incident, so miserably ashamed was she of her unthinking remark in response to his expression of belief in her honesty. On the following day, she had spent as much time and effort trying to avoid being in his company as her cousin’s, but for very different reasons … and with opposite results. It gave her a grim satisfaction to evade and ignore Coralee, but when she succeeded in putting distance between herself and Mr. Delevan, her misery only increased. In a remarkably short space of time, he had become almost as comfortable a friend as Lucy. She wouldn’t have believed that any other trouble could weigh her down when the anguish of knowing George had not believed her was so acute, but such was the case. From her hasty words he must have thought she counted his friendship and good opinion as nothing beside George’s, and it wasn’t so! True, she had apologized immediately and she would be glad to apologize again, but no apology could wipe out the callously inflicted wound. In her sore state she felt she had thrown away something precious. And then after tea, when she was on her way to her room to change for dinner, Mr. Delevan had appeared at her side as she headed wearily for the old wing.

  “Lady Gemma, may I have a word with you?” he had asked in a quiet voice.

  Speechlessly she had nodded, but after a fleeting look into serious blue eyes, hers remained glued to the carpet.

  “What have I done to offend you? Why are you avoiding me?”

  Her first reaction was to deny it, but such honesty compelled a like return. “It isn’t you,” she had blurted out. “It is I who have offended — what I said yesterday about no one’s opinion counting but George’s — it was a terrible thing to say, and it wasn’t true! You said it was all right, but it isn’t, and I don’t know how to make it right. I —”

  Two fingers lightly pressed against her lips had brought this tirade to a halt and brought unhappy brown eyes up to meet smiling blue ones.

  “You’ve just made it right. Knowing that you were bothered by it is like being assured that we are friends, as I had believed. Am I correct?”

  “Oh, yes,” she breathed as the fingers were removed. The cloud of worry cleared from her eyes and she smiled shyly. Then he had done a surprising thing. One of those restraining fingers had gently touched each cheek in turn.

  “I was afraid they were gone forever,” he had said softly to mystify her, then had added briskly, “Now, no more avoiding me?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good.” He had turned and headed for his own wing without another word, but the brief estrangement between them was over.

  Now, on a sunny day in Bath, walking by Mr. Delevan’s side, Gemma broke the companionable silence to ask, “What did you think of the abbe
y?”

  “I liked it, and not just the whimsical angels going up the ladders to heaven either. The fan vaulting inside is magnificent, and so is the setting… Well, not magnificent, but just right, nestled by the river as it is. I was so interested in strolling around the grounds that I never did get to the Pump Room. Another day perhaps.”

  “There will be other opportunities to come into Bath. All the world passes through the Pump Room sooner or later.”

  “Have you ever drunk the water?” he inquired curiously.

  “I’m never sick.” Her smile was saucy, and his eyes as always sought out the dimples.

  “That’s begging the question. Have you?”

  “Once, one gulp.” She shuddered theatrically. “If medicine must taste horrid to be efficacious, the waters of Bath should be a universal panacea.”

  “You have just talked me out of sampling them.”

  “Oh, no! All visitors to Bath drink the waters. It would be a sacrilege to refuse. Think of your liver, think of your gallbladder!”

  Sudden mischief sparked in electric blue eyes. “Very well. I’ll drink half a glass if you’ll finish it.”

  “Unfair!” She laughed. “I have had my dose.” She glanced back to check on the progress of Lucy and Coralee, and at that moment a street urchin darted out of a doorway. When Gemma turned forward again, she caromed into the running child and was instantly down on the pavement.

  “Lucy!” John spun about and thrust the assorted packages into the arms of his sister, who had come dashing up. The urchin was already half a block away. He bent over the kneeling figure and assisted her to her feet but became aware almost at once that she was putting no weight on her left leg. Her face was ashen and the velvety eyes were full of pain.

  “Lean on me,” he commanded urgently, and took most of her weight as she complied readily. “Is it your ankle?”

  She nodded, biting her lip to keep back a moan. “It will be fine presently. Just let me stand still a moment.”